The Nan Elmoth Apprentice
by French Pony
Summary: A momentous event in the life of the son of Eöl and Aredhel, and certain of its consequences.
1. Twilight's Son

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

**Foreword**

Greetings! Welcome to this story. Maestro, if you please . . . "This is the story / Of Eöl and Aredhel / Who were bringing up a very handsome boy!"

Sorry about that. Anyway, this story is a look at an important formative event in the childhood of one of Tolkien's least sympathetic Elves. Before growing up to become a traitor to the city of Gondolin, he was a boy living through what could not have been an easy childhood. This story is a rare chance to show an intact family with two parents in Middle-earth, though this may or may not prove to be an advantage.

That's all I have to say for now. I'll meet you at the end. Enjoy the story!

**1. Twilight's Son**

The boy ran silently through the woods, scrambling over the great twisted roots of the trees as he chased fireflies. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, but there was still a glow of light in the western sky, red and orange gradually giving way to a soft violet. If the boy had not been so intent on the fireflies, he would have noticed the first stars becoming visible in the east. It was his favorite time of day. His lessons were over, and his parents allowed him to roam through the woods of Nan Elmoth until nearly midnight.

His father had been silent and preoccupied at dinner, so the boy knew that he would spend the rest of the evening in his forge, working on whatever new project had gripped his fancy. The boy thought that sometimes his father spent the entire night at the forge, for he would enter the house with a groan just as the boy was waking up. The boy's mother would bring his father bread and a hot drink then, and his father would sleep until the middle of the afternoon. The boy liked it when his father stayed up late at the forge, for it meant that his mother would pack lots of food into a basket and go out into the woods to play with him in the morning.

A swarm of fireflies blinked just ahead of him, and he climbed down into a hollow between two roots. Carefully, he reached out and caught one of the insects, cupping it carefully in his hands. It blinked several times, and he watched it, entranced.

"Lómion!"

He looked up when he heard his mother's voice. "Here I am, Nana," he said. "Down in the hollow."

In the dim light, he saw his mother gliding towards him, and her white dress seemed to glow in the darkness. "There you are, Lómion," she said. "What have you found tonight?"

"A firefly, Nana. Look how it lights up." He offered her his cupped hands, and she watched as the insect blinked at her.

"It is very pretty," his mother said. "I am glad that you have shown it to me. Now I think it is time to let it go free."

"But it is so beautiful, Nana."

"It is beautiful," she said. "It has been kind and generous to allow you to see its beauty. It is up to you to return that favor by setting it free. No creature likes a cage."

Her voice trailed off. The boy looked up and saw that his mother's eyes had become distant, as if she were gazing intently at something too far away to see. He looked again at the firefly in his hands. It blinked once, and its wings drooped. He opened his hands and thrust them upwards, and the firefly flew away past his mother's face, startling her.

"Oh!" she cried. "That was well done, my Lómion." She put her arms around him and drew him close to her. He snuggled against her, enjoying the warmth and comfort of her embrace.

"Say it again, Nana."

"My Lómion."

He smiled. It was his secret name, the one his mother used only when they were alone together. Hearing it sent a delicious shiver through his body. He laid his head against his mother's chest and listened to her heart beating. Around them, fireflies blinked and crickets chirped. The stars shone down, bathing them in cool, welcoming light. Lómion sighed and wished that the evening would never end.

He woke the next morning to the sound of something sizzling in a pan. The scent of eggs and vegetables frying together drifted past his nose. That meant that his father was awake; his mother did not cook breakfasts like that. Suddenly hungry, he climbed out of bed and poured water from his pitcher into the bowl on his washstand. After he had washed his face, he felt much more awake. He heard the rhythmic thumping sound that meant that his mother was kneading bread while his father made breakfast, and he heard the low murmur of their voices through the wall as they talked.

His father's voice rumbled low, and his mother's lighter voice answered. Then she squealed. "Eöl! Stop that at once! Our son could walk in at any moment and see you with your hands upon my --" Then she giggled, and the boy could not make out any more words.

He dressed himself quickly, then stood before the mirror of polished black _galvorn_ that his father had made for him and ran a comb through his hair. He pulled at the blankets on his bed until they were more or less straight, then hurried into the main room of the house.

"Good morning, Nana!" he cried. "Good morning, Ada!"

Eöl looked up from where he was shaking the cast iron skillet over the fire. "Good morning, child," he said. "Go and set the dishes out, for our breakfast is nearly ready."

The boy opened a cabinet near the table and took out plates, cups and cutlery. He arranged them on the table, then went into the pantry and brought out a jug of cider. He poured it carefully into three cups. His mother's hands flew as she finished kneading the bread dough, then set it in a bowl to rise, covered with a clean, damp cloth.

"Are you finished, Aredhel?" Eöl asked. "Breakfast is ready."

"I must wash my hands. Go ahead and serve breakfast, and I will come to the table in a moment." She stepped outside and the boy heard the splashing as she dipped up water from the rain barrel to wash her hands.

"Be seated, child," Eöl said. The boy sat down at his place and sniffed appreciatively as Eöl put fried eggs and vegetables on his plate, then sprinkled them liberally with spicy oil.

Aredhel came inside, drying her hands on her apron, and sat down. Eöl finished serving breakfast, and they all began to eat.

"What do you intend to do today, Aredhel?" Eöl asked.

"I will finish the baking, and then I have a load of mending to do."

"Perhaps you ought to give the boy lessons today as well."

Aredhel laid down her fork, and her eyes flashed. "That depends," she said shortly. "Perhaps I will not have time. There is quite a lot of mending, with all that you burn and tear in your forge."

"The boy needs an education."

"And you need clothes that do not have gaping holes in them. I do not suppose it has occurred to you to give our son his lessons yourself?"

Eöl grunted. "My work in the forge is delicate and requires skill and time."

"Whereas mine could as easily be done by a household servant who did not happen to be your wife."

The boy did not look at his parents, but concentrated instead on his food. He liked spicy vegetables and eggs, but today it did not seem to have as much flavor as it normally did. He did not like to hear his parents quarrelling.

"I caught a firefly last night," he offered. Both his parents turned to look at him, and he thought they looked somewhat relieved. "Then I set it free," he said. "Nana said that no creature likes a cage."

Eöl glanced at Aredhel, who blushed. Then he turned back to his son. "Your Nana is correct," he said. "You did well."

The boy smiled, but he could not think of anything else to say after that. After a moment, the family resumed eating.

"I will give him a history lesson," Aredhel said at last. "I can do that while I bake."

"Good," Eöl said. "Try to tell him something about Middle-earth, though. He knows far more about Valinor, where he has never been and never will go, than he does about the land in which he lives."

"Thank you for the advice," Aredhel snapped. "I am happy to hear from one who is so closely involved in the education of his son."

No one said anything after that. The boy choked down the rest of his breakfast and wished that he were back outside in the forest with the fireflies.

Aredhel spent the morning and the early part of the afternoon baking bread for the week. She let her son help her knead and shape the dough. As they worked, she told him of the founding of Gondolin, the hidden city that had been her home.

". . . and my older brother Turgon who founded the city reigns there even today as its King," she said.

"If the King of Gondolin is your brother, am I related to him, too?" the boy asked. "Can I make this loaf into a braid?"

"'May I,'" Aredhel corrected him. "Yes, you may braid that loaf. And you are related to Turgon. He is your uncle, and you are his nephew."

The boy carefully patted the dough into three long snakes and began to weave them together. "Does King Turgon have any children?"

"He has one daughter, Idril, but she is grown up now. She is your cousin." Aredhel sighed. "Her mother, Turgon's wife, died a very long time ago, when Idril was just a baby. She fell through the ice during our journey across the Helcaraxë and was drowned."

"Who took care of Idril, then, if her mother was dead?"

Aredhel smiled. "Turgon took care of her, and I helped him, as did our father and our older brother Fingon. Almost our entire family helped to raise her."

"What about your Nana?"

"My Nana was not there. She chose not to follow my father to Middle-earth."

"Oh." The boy pinched the ends of the braided loaf together and set the loaf carefully on a baking tray. "What if Ada were to go somewhere? Would you choose not to follow him?"

Aredhel stopped mixing flour into the dough in her bowl. "Are you worried about the argument I had with your father at breakfast this morning?" she asked.

He nodded and looked away. Aredhel wiped her hands and tilted his chin so that she could look in his eyes.

"Your father is not the most demonstrative of people," she said, "but he loves you. His work is demanding and consumes much of his energy, but I promise you that you are the most precious thing in his world. You are also the most precious thing in my world. I love you with all my heart, Lómion. Though your father and I may quarrel sometimes, we both love you, and we will not cease in that."

For answer, Lómion threw his arms around his mother and buried his face in her shoulder. She smelled warm and floury, and he drew comfort from her scent. She held him for a few minutes, then broke the embrace.

"I love you, Nana," he said.

"Thank you. I am glad to hear it. I love you, too." Aredhel smiled at him and brushed away a trace of dampness at the corners of his eyes. "You have been very helpful here, child. I think that I will be able to finish the baking on my own. You might go out to the forge and pay your father a visit, for I think he would enjoy spending some time with you."

The boy was not convinced of this, but he recognized the intent behind the suggestion. He took off his baking apron, shook it out, and hung it neatly on its hook. Then he went out around back to his father's forge.

As always, the heat and noise of the forge fascinated and terrified him at the same time. He stood outside the door for a long time, trying to muster the courage to go inside. Once he was there, he knew that he would see his father hard at work doing wonderful, mysterious things. However, that did not make the moment of entry any less frightening. Finally, the boy took a deep breath, opened the door and slipped inside.

A wave of intense heat washed over him, carrying the sharp scent of coal and hot metal. The roar of the fire assaulted his ears, and his head rang with the sound of the blows of his father's hammer. The boy shut his eyes and breathed in and out, trying to adjust to his surroundings. When he opened his eyes, he saw Eöl looking at him with a slight smile on his face.

"Welcome, child," he said. "Have you come to keep me company while I work?"

The boy nodded. "Nana said she could finish the baking by herself, and she said that I should come to see you."

"I am glad of your company. Sometimes it is lonely in here with none to assist me." Eöl turned back to the blade he was hammering, and the sparks flew.

The boy perched on a workbench and watched his father for a while. Something shiny caught his eye, and he picked it up to investigate. It turned out to be a little silver jug with a graceful, fluted handle. "This is pretty," he said. "What is it?"

Eöl turned to see what his son held. "That is a honey jug for the Queen of Doriath."

"It is very nice," the boy said, "but I think the handle is crooked."

Eöl frowned and set the sword down. "Let me see." He took the jug from the boy and squinted carefully at it. "You are right," he said at last. "I do not know how I missed it before, but the handle is not quite straight. You have a keen eye, child. Thank you for telling me this. I will correct it before I deliver it to Doriath."

The boy beamed at the compliment. His father did not often praise him. Encouraged, he slid down from the workbench and came to stand a little closer to the anvil. Eöl graciously shifted position so that the boy could have a clearer view of what he was doing. He beat the blade thin, heated it in the forge until it glowed red, folded it over on itself, and hammered it again.

"It looks like when Nana makes bread," the boy said after a while.

"Hmm?"

"All the folding. You are folding and pushing that sword blade just like Nana does when she kneads bread dough."

Eöl smiled and nodded. "It is a similar process, child, and you are clever to see it. This folding serves much the same purpose in smithing and in bread making, I think. What your Nana and I are doing binds the dough or the metal together and makes it stronger. That way, we can turn it into something useful."

"Then your work is not so different after all," the boy said.

"Hm. Now that you mention it, perhaps it is not." Eöl shrugged. "In principle, at least. Will you pour a little more coal into the furnace, child?"

The boy ran eagerly to the coal bin, pleased that he was allowed to help his father today as well as his mother. He spent the rest of the afternoon watching his father work, sometimes running to fetch tools or drinking water at his father's bidding. He asked many questions, and Eöl did not seem to tire of answering them. Near evening, Eöl even allowed his son to don a forge apron and gloves and hold the blade steady on the anvil while Eöl hammered one tricky spot.

At last, Eöl declared that the day's work was finished. He carefully laid the unfinished blade aside and showed the boy where he kept each of the tools when they were not in use. Then he removed a covered clay pot from a niche in the outer wall of the furnace. When the boy lifted the lid, he saw that it contained a fragrant stew that had been cooking slowly for much of the afternoon.

"That is our dinner," Eöl said. "I will bring it to the house, for the pot is heavy, and I will not risk having you drop it and splash yourself with hot stew. Run ahead and wash yourself, and I will follow."

The boy ran ahead to the house, where Aredhel met him at the door. "You are filthy, child," she said with a smile.

"I have been helping Ada today. He is bringing dinner to the house now."

"That is good. Now you may do as Ada does and wash all that forge grime away before you eat. I will lay the table while you do so."

The boy went to his sleeping chamber and washed for the second time that day, amazed at how black the wash water became. He heard his father enter the house and set the pot of stew down. Eöl and Aredhel spoke together in low tones, and then his father went to wash as well. A short time later, Aredhel called the boy to the table.

The stew tasted especially delicious that evening, as did the chunks of fresh bread the family pulled from the braided loaf. The boy chattered excitedly to Aredhel about all he had seen and done in the forge, and she listened with an expression of interest, interrupting only to remind him to eat his food in between portions of his tale.

"And then I saw a bit on the blade that did not look as smooth as the rest of it," he said. "I showed it to Ada, and he said that I had a good eye, that it needed fine work, and he asked me to hold the blade while he hammered it with a special little hammer. I even got to wear a big leather apron and gloves just like Ada does."

Aredhel smiled at him. "Of course. If you work with Ada, you must wear the same protection that he wears. I would rather see you burn your clothes than burn your skin."

The boy reached for another chunk of bread. Eöl watched him thoughtfully. He had not spoken a word throughout dinner, choosing instead to listen to the boy's account of his afternoon in the forge. Now he sat up a little straighter, laid down his spoon and looked straight at the boy.

"Please pass the salt, Maeglin," he said.

Confused, the boy fell silent. He wondered who "Maeglin" was. He and Aredhel were the only other people at the table. Aredhel blinked at her husband.

"Excuse me?" she said.

Eöl did not take his eyes off his son. "Maeglin," he said, slowly and clearly, "will you please hand me the salt cellar?"

No one moved or spoke. In the silence, the meaning of Eöl's words began to dawn on the boy. For the first time in his life, his father had called him by a name. He was "Maeglin."


	2. Bitter Be The Day

**2. Bitter Be The Day**

There was a sudden silence around the table. The boy watched his own hand reach out and push the silver and glass salt cellar closer to Eöl's plate.

"Thank you, Maeglin." Eöl scooped up salt in the little horn spoon and sprinkled it delicately over his stew. He resumed eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

After a moment, Aredhel found her voice. She smiled a little too broadly at her husband and son. "So you have finally chosen a name for our child, Eöl," she said. "This is wonderful news. I shall have to organize a naming ceremony. It will be strange, since the child at such a ceremony is usually a newborn, but we shall manage. I will make a new suit of clothes for . . . Maeglin, did you call him? And I will invite your valet, of course. I know you would not have any of my family present. . . perhaps you will tell me where your family dwells. . ."

Eöl blinked at her, a puzzled, angry expression on his face. Aredhel fell silent and stirred the stew in her bowl.

"We have no need of a naming ceremony," Eöl said. "That is an affectation of the Noldor. I have chosen a name for my son, and I have announced it. He is Maeglin. I do not see that any ceremony is necessary." He took a bite of stew and chewed decisively, as if to signal that he would tolerate no more discussion on the matter. Aredhel sighed and began to tear her chunk of bread into small pieces.

The boy raised a spoonful of meat and broth to his mouth, but could not bring himself to eat it. After a moment, he returned it to the bowl and poked at a floating chunk of celery with his spoon. Eöl glanced over at him.

"Eat your dinner, Maeglin," he said. "You will have a full day tomorrow."

Obediently, the boy choked down some of his stew. When he had eaten half of what was in his bowl, he looked up.

"I am full," he said shyly. "May I please be excused from the table?"

Eöl peered into the boy's bowl and raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Are you sure that you can eat no more?"

The boy nodded. Eöl sighed.

"Very well. You are excused. But you may not have anything to eat should you wake hungry in the night. You must learn to eat when food is set before you."

"Yes, Ada. Goodnight, Ada. Goodnight, Nana." Without even kissing his parents goodnight, the boy fled to the safety of his own bedchamber.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, he flung himself down on his bed and sobbed. For a long time, he did not even understand why he wept, but gradually, his thoughts became more coherent.

Ever since he had been old enough to understand, he had known that he had no real name. He had never felt the need of one before; Eöl addressed him affectionately enough as "child," and there were no other children in Nan Elmoth with whom he could be confused. Aredhel sometimes called him "Lómion," but she had impressed upon him that this name was a secret that they could only share when Eöl was not around to hear. Once, when he had been very little, he had asked Eöl for a name of his own. Eöl had smiled indulgently, picked him up and settled him on his lap.

"You must be patient, child," he had said. "A name is the most important thing that an Ada can give his son, and I wish for you to have a name that suits you in every way. One cannot rush these things. I am waiting until I know the perfect name for you. When I know it, I will tell you, and then you will have the best name of any Elf in all Arda."

Ever since that time, the boy had waited for the special moment when Eöl would assemble the family and the few old servants who still lived near them, smile proudly at his son, and bestow a name upon him. Nana would smile and embrace them both, and the servants might applaud politely. He had not wanted to receive his name casually over dinner, as if it was something that he ought to have known all along. And he had not wanted the announcement to provoke angry words and sullen silence between his parents.

Through the wall, he could hear Aredhel angrily rattling dishes and cutlery in the basin as she washed them. Eöl would be sitting in his chair next to the lamp, reading and pointedly ignoring Aredhel's noise.

The boy rose from his bed, undressed, and pulled on a sleeping tunic. He folded his day clothes carefully and laid them on a chair, then moved to his wash basin to wash the tears from his face. As he finished, there was a knock on the door. He looked up as Aredhel entered. Without a word, she took him in her arms. He clung to her and trembled, but did not make a sound.

"I am sorry, Lómion," she murmured. "He should not have done that. I know that you have wanted a real name for many years, and to fling one at you as he did was astonishingly cruel. I will have words with your father about it."

"Do I have to keep the name, Nana?"

"We will see. I will discuss it with your father. Do you want to keep it?"

He considered the question. "I do not know. I do not know if I like it or not. Do you like it, Nana?"

"Maeglin. It is an interesting choice. Let me see. . . 'Maeglin' is 'sharp glance.' I must say, it does describe you, and it is hardly unflattering."

"But do you like it?"

Aredhel pursed her lips. "I have not decided yet. In and of itself, 'Maeglin' is a perfectly fine father-name. But to me, the most important thing is that your name should fit you. If you are comfortable being Maeglin, then I will like the name. But if bearing that name causes you grief, then I will not like it."

"Maybe I will get used to it." The boy put on what he hoped was a brave smile.

"Perhaps." Aredhel kissed his forehead. "However, nothing is decided at the moment. I will talk to your father. Do not worry. We will find a solution to this." Her arms tightened briefly around him, and then she left the sleeping chamber.

The boy sat down on the bed, at a loss for what to do next. He knew that he ought to lie down and go to sleep, but he did not think that sleep would ever find him that evening. Through the wall, he heard Aredhel's voice, speaking too softly for him to make out her words. Eöl's deeper rumble answered her. They spoke thus for a few minutes, while the boy waited, wondering if his fate was to be decided that evening.

Suddenly, Aredhel's voice came loudly and clearly through the wall. "What? Eöl, he is a child, not a sword or a piece of smithcraft!"

"He is my son, Aredhel," Eöl snapped back. "He is my son, and it is my right to give him a name of my choosing."

"Your son, but not your property!"

The boy blinked back a fresh round of tears. As he did so, he caught sight of his reflection in his black _galvorn_ mirror. Suddenly, the face that looked back at him seemed to belong to a stranger. He went to stand before the mirror to investigate, and tried to ignore the argument on the other side of the wall.

"My son, Aredhel. I will name him what I please. If he were a baby, we would not be having this discussion. I fail to see why we are having it now."

"We are having it precisely because he is no longer a baby. He is grown enough to have a will and a character of his own. You must take those into account."

"I did just that. 'Maeglin' suits his character perfectly. He is an observant child. He notices things —"

"That is not the issue, Eöl!" There was a sharp sound, as if Aredhel had slammed her fist down on the table, as she sometimes did when she was very angry. "He is old enough and wise enough now that you cannot exclude him from his own naming. You wounded him deeply when you flung that name at him as if it were nothing more than a rag to clean his face."

"I do not have to answer to a child for my actions. Maeglin is my son. I am his father. Everything he has -- the clothes on his back, the food in his mouth, the breath in his body -- derive from me. I do not need to answer to him in the choice of his name."

The boy stared into the mirror, and the dark face inside stared back at him. It was a thin, peaked face, with eyes swollen from weeping. It had grown longer in recent years, though it still retained some baby roundness about the chin. It was framed with tendrils of dark hair that had escaped from the leather thong tying it back. He wondered if the face could belong to someone named Maeglin.

He heard Aredhel's voice through the wall again after a moment of shocked silence. "Everything he has? The breath in his body? Eöl, do you speak such foolish words on purpose? Your contribution to his begetting was a moment of pleasure. I carried him in my body for a full year, and I labored for hours to bring him into the world. He is as much my son as he is yours, and I will not sit back and see my son hurt at the hands of one who should love him!"

"I do love him, Aredhel; how can you think that I do not? He has wanted a name since he was old enough to know what a name was. I have given him one."

"You withheld a name for years out of your own pride. Now you toss him a name as you would toss scraps to a dog, save that you would show the dog more consideration, and you call that love!"

The boy wrapped his arms around his body and trembled. In the mirror, Maeglin's face screwed up, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

"I think you are jealous, Aredhel. I think that you fear that I love Maeglin more than I love you."

"You never loved me. You wanted my body, and you snared me with your spells."

"From the moment I spied you wandering lost in the woods, I loved you. I loved you and desired you for my wife. I love my wife, and I love the son she has given me."

"You trapped your wife, and you have given grave insult to your son. I do not believe that you love either one."

Eöl's voice took on a silky, dangerously smooth edge. "Then I will prove it to you, Aredhel. I will prove my love for you this night!"

"You will not. Eöl, remove your hands from my -- oh! Ooh. . . Eöl, I mean it, I --"

"Let me prove it to you, Aredhel. Let me prove my love."

The boy's stomach churned. Maeglin's expression changed to one of deep distress. The boy did not want to look at Maeglin any more and turned the mirror to the wall.

"Eöl! Oh! Eöl. . . ooh. . . you do not love me. You should be speaking with your son, not. . . ooh. . ."

"But I do love you, Aredhel, Ar-Feiniel, the White Lady of Gondolin. I will love you forever. And you love me."

"If you do not go in to your son this instant, I will leave you."

"Do that. You will come back. You always come back."

Aredhel moaned, and the boy knew that they were kissing again, fiery savage kisses that looked like they were attacking each other with tooth and claw. He did not want to think about his parents kissing each other like that. He did not want to think about Maeglin who now lived in his mirror. He did not want to think about anything. With a choked cry, he hurried to his bed and lay down, burrowing his head into the pillow and pulling the covers up over his ears to shut out the sounds from the main room. Safe in his nest, he let his tears come. Eventually, he fell asleep.

When he woke, it was mid-morning, and the sun shone full in his face through the window. He wondered why he had been allowed to sleep so long; usually, Aredhel would come to wake him in time for breakfast. He remembered the ferocious quarrel of the night before and decided that he did not want to face the morning. However, as he turned over and pulled the covers higher around his shoulders, his stomach growled. A pang of hunger shot through his body, and he thought about the bowl of stew he had not been able to finish at dinner.

With a sigh, he sat up and climbed out of bed. He washed slowly and combed his hair by touch, not wanting to look at Maeglin in the mirror. When he could delay it no longer, he cautiously opened the door and peered out into the main room.

No one was there. His place was set at the table, and when he moved to investigate, he found last night's stew warmed over, a chunk of bread, and a note. The note was written in his father's hand.

_Maeglin,_

_Your mother is not here this morning, but she will return. Here is the stew that you did not finish last night. Eat your breakfast and present yourself at the forge when you are finished._

_Ada_

He ate the stew slowly, mopping the bowl with the bread. The meal sat heavily in his stomach, but at least he was no longer hungry. He carefully washed his dishes and wiped them, then went to the forge.

Eöl looked up when he entered and nodded politely to him. "Welcome, Maeglin," he said. "Put on an apron and come here. Your apprenticeship starts today, and we have much to do."

The boy slipped the heavy leather apron over his head and pulled on the gloves that Eöl handed him. "Where is Nana?"

Eöl shrugged. "I do not know. It is not important. She will return."

"When?"

"Perhaps this evening, or perhaps in a few days' time. Hold this steady." Eöl removed the blade he had been working on from the forge where it had been heating. He set it on the anvil and clamped tongs around it. The boy grasped the tongs to hold the blade still.

"You are not worried about Nana?"

Eöl swung his hammer and began to beat the blade thin. "Ah," he said. "I forget that you do not understand this. I suppose you were too little to remember the last time this happened."

"The last time?"

"I believe you were about a year old at the time, perhaps a few months older. Your mother and I quarreled, and she left for a few days."

"Oh." This was news. "Who took care of me?"

"I did. Nana returned, and that was the end of it."

The boy stared at the glowing red blade. It flared and sparked when Eöl hit it with the hammer. "Do I have to keep the name Maeglin?"

"Yes. I gave it to you, and one cannot simply discard a name given by one's father."

The boy took a deep breath. "But Nana said --"

"Enough!" Eöl swung the hammer hard, and the impact on the blade sent a painful shock up his son's arms. "I will hear no more argument from either you or your mother. Maeglin you are, and Maeglin you will remain. You are my apprentice now, and you will do as I say. Use your sharp eyes and observe how the metal of the blade changes as I hammer it."

There was no more discussion. Eöl worked the blade slowly and steadily, explaining the properties of forged steel to his son and demanding that the boy repeat them back to demonstrate his understanding. After they had heated, hammered, and folded the blade several times, Eöl placed it on a rack to rest and picked up a heavy war axe.

"One of the Dwarf-lords from the next valley left this for repairs," he said. "I have completed the repairs, and all that remains is to hone the edge. It is not a difficult task. Come. I will show you how to do it." He pulled the cover off of the grinding wheel.

By the middle of the afternoon, they had completed the work on the Dwarf axe and paused for a quick lunch. When they finished eating, there was a knock on the door. The Dwarf who owned the axe had come to claim it. Eöl greeted him and placed the axe into the Dwarf's hands.

"You have done well, Master Eöl," the Dwarf said. "It even comes back with a keen edge."

Eöl bowed. "That is the work of my son and apprentice, Maeglin." He pulled the boy forward and prodded him to make a polite bow to the Dwarf. The Dwarf smiled into his beard.

"Is that so? I did not realize you had a son, Master Eöl. Well, Maeglin looks to be a fine lad. If he grows to be as fine a smith as you are, then we will be fortunate indeed."

"He is a clever boy," Eöl said, ruffling the boy's hair. "I think that he will learn well and prove to be an able assistant."

"Indeed." The Dwarf bowed and placed a sack of coin in Eöl's hand. "Thank you for your labor, Master Eöl. It is a pleasure to meet you, Maeglin. I hope that I will see more of your work in the years to come. At your service."

Eöl smiled. "At yours and your family's."

The Dwarf turned and walked away down the path. Eöl reached into the bag the Dwarf had given him, took out a coin, and placed it in the boy's hand. "That is for you. You have done well this day."

The boy looked at the coin curiously. He had never had money of his own before. "What will I do with this?"

"Anything you like. If I were you, I would keep it somewhere safe. When you have collected enough coin, I will take you to a market day in one of the towns nearby, and you may use your coins to buy yourself something nice."

"Oh. Thank you, Ada." Unsure what to do next, the boy cautiously embraced his father. "I love you, Ada."

Not unkindly, Eöl detached the boy's arms from around his waist. "This is not the proper time and place, Maeglin," he said. "In the forge, you are my apprentice, and I am your master. It is time to resume our work. I will show you how to use a soldering iron now. It is not a difficult task, and once you have learned it, you will be a great help to me."

When the day's work was finally over, the boy's entire body was sore. He returned to the house in silence and ate the food that Eöl put in front of him without argument. After dinner, he was astonished to realize that he was too weary to go outside and roam in the forest under the stars. Eöl settled down to read, and the boy played quietly indoors. His heart was not in his games, however, and after a while, he rose, kissed Eöl good night and went to bed. He lay in the gloom, exhausted, but too troubled to fall asleep.

Aredhel returned later in the night. The boy heard his door open and heard Aredhel's soft footsteps as she entered the chamber to check on him. He wanted to sit up and let his mother embrace him, but he remembered what Eöl had said about how she had left when he was a baby. He lay still and feigned sleep. Aredhel's smooth, cool hand brushed over his hair.

"I love you, my Lómion," she whispered. She bent down and kissed him, then tucked the covers around him and left. The boy thought miserably about the beauty of Nan Elmoth in the twilight and how he had been too weary to play that evening. His muscles ached. And even though his mirror was still turned to the wall, he felt sure that, inside it, Maeglin was laughing at him.


	3. The Siege Of Time

**3. The Siege Of Time**

After that first dreadful day, a heavy silence descended upon the house in Nan Elmoth. Eöl and Aredhel did not speak with each other, but neither did they quarrel. Instead, they both focused their attention upon their son. The boy had become pale and withdrawn, obeying his father's commands in the forge without a word of acknowledgement or understanding. If his parents set food before him, he ate, slowly and with no interest or pleasure. He moved stiffly and did not play in the evenings, and he did not seem to notice when Aredhel massaged his back and shoulders with a pungent salve.

Eöl and Aredhel both worried for him. Eöl showed him many intricate tasks, hoping to rouse a spark of interest, and Aredhel held him close and petted his hair and sang to him, but he remained silent and distant. "What if he is fading?" Aredhel asked. Eöl made no reply to her, but when a party of Dwarves passed by the house to commission rings for a wedding, he bargained long and hard concerning the payment. When he had finished, he brought Aredhel a recipe for a medicine that he had demanded as barter from the Dwarves in lieu of coin.

Aredhel read through the recipe, which called for many strange herbs. She wandered long under the stars that night seeking them, and returned at dawn, her basket full of pungent-smelling leaves. These Eöl boiled until they became a thick syrup. They took the syrup in a cup to the boy's sleeping chamber, and Aredhel held him in her arms as Eöl tipped a spoonful into his mouth.

At the first bitter taste, the boy struggled and kicked and spat. Afraid that the first spoonful had not gone down, Eöl dosed him again and pinched his mouth and nose to make him swallow. The boy choked and coughed and twisted in Aredhel's arms. Horrified, Eöl felt around for the chamber pot and held his son's head over it. The boy vomited, then lay pale and shaking on his pillow as Aredhel wiped his face with a damp cloth.

To everyone's relief, the Dwarf medicine seemed to have an effect. The boy became more alert and responsive, and there was no need for the trauma of another dose. Within two hours, the boy's appetite returned. "I am hungry," he said. "May I have my breakfast?" It was the first time he had spoken in a week. Eöl wrapped him in a shawl and led him into the main room to eat fried eggs and vegetables as Aredhel pulled the soiled linens from the bed.

Now that the initial crisis had passed, the household settled into a new routine. Eöl kept Maeglin working long hours at the forge. He proved to be a stern master, but he taught Maeglin well, if not precisely mercifully. And if Maeglin did not demonstrate overt enthusiasm for his new craft, he learned swiftly and was soon assisting his father in many small tasks.

After he had worked with Eöl for a fortnight and his muscles had begun to harden and grow accustomed to the labor of the forge, Maeglin began again to go outside and roam beneath the stars in the evenings. He would go to his favorite thicket and watch the fireflies swarm, but he found that he had much less inclination to play, preferring instead to sit on the trunk of a fallen tree and think about his new life.

One night, Aredhel came upon him, having brought him a warm shawl. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear her approach. He looked up, mildly startled, when she draped the shawl over his shoulders.

"I am sorry," Aredhel said with a smile. "I did not mean to startle you."

"It is all right, Nana," he said. "I was thinking."

"May I join you?"

Maeglin nodded, and Aredhel sat down next to him on the log. They watched the fireflies in silence for a while. "What were you thinking about?" Aredhel asked.

Maeglin shrugged. "Nothing."

"I can see that you are troubled, child," Aredhel said. "Will you not tell me what thoughts prey upon your mind?"

Maeglin pinched his lips tightly together and turned away.

Aredhel sighed. "Is it your new name? Does that bring you grief? Perhaps I must speak to your father about that."

Maeglin whirled to face her. "No!" he cried. "Please, Nana, do not do that! Say nothing of this to Ada, please!"

Aredhel grasped his shoulders and held them tightly in an effort to calm him. "What is the matter, child? If you do not tell me, I cannot help you. You have been miserable ever since your father named you. If this name is causing you such distress, then I will not have you bear it."

"Please do not speak to Ada about it. I will bear my name, only please do not speak to Ada!" Maeglin's voice was high with panic, and he seemed close to tears. Aredhel combed her fingers through his hair.

"What is wrong? Tell me, my Lómion."

At the sound of his secret mother-name, Maeglin's self-control broke, and he threw his arms around Aredhel. "If you speak to Ada, you will fight with him. I do not want you to fight with Ada, and . . . and I do not want you to go away again."

"Oh, Lómion." Aredhel held him close and rocked him for a few moments, as she had done when he was a baby. She tilted his head and looked him in the eye. "I am sorry that I could not remain with you that day. I returned as swiftly as I was able."

"Why did you go away? Ada told me . . . he said . . . "

"What? What did your father say?"

Maeglin gulped. "He said that you had gone away before. When I was a baby. He said that you stayed away for a long time. I did not know about that."

"I see." Aredhel shifted her son in her arms so that his head rested comfortably against her shoulder. She was silent for a few minutes. "When your father and I quarrel," she said after a while, "it does not mean that we have ceased loving you. Neither one of us will ever abandon you."

"Ada said that you would always come back."

"I will always come back. I will always come back to you, Lómion, no matter how long I am away."

"Why did you go away, Nana? Why did you not stay here with me?"

"That is a complicated question," Aredhel said. "I will tell you as much as I can, though there are parts that you are still too young to understand." She looked off into the middle distance, as though she was searching for the right words.

"Your father and I do not always live together in perfect harmony," she said at last. "Do not fear; you are not the cause of that. It has been thus ever since we were first wedded. Usually, when your father and I quarrel, it is over quickly, and we forgive each other and move on. However, sometimes our arguments are more serious, and we cannot forgive each other so easily. When that happens, I do not wish to risk becoming so angry that we would come to blows. So I remove myself from the house until I feel certain that your father and I are once again able to converse in a civil manner."

"Oh." This comforted Maeglin a little. It did not sound as if Aredhel was planning to vanish forever in the near future. "Why do you go away and not Ada? Does he send you away?"

"No, child, he does not. This is his house; he dwelled here long before I met him. It would not be fair to ask him to abandon it simply because he has argued with his wife."

That was not a convincing explanation, but Maeglin let it slide. He supposed that it was one of the things that he would understand when he was older. He had more immediate fears. "Will Ada ever send me away?"

"No," Aredhel said firmly. "Your father loves you with every fiber of his being. He does not have it in him to cast you out. I have told you, you are more precious to him than anything else in the world. Do not fear, my Lómion. Neither your father nor I will ever leave you willingly unless you wish it."

"You will not speak to Ada about my name?"

"If that is your wish. I will not speak to your father."

Finally, Maeglin relaxed into Aredhel's embrace. "Thank you, Nana. I do not like it when you and Ada fight."

"I do not enjoy it, either. I try to ensure that it happens as little as possible. Now, let us speak of something else. The last time that I brought clean laundry to your chamber, I noticed that your mirror now faces the wall. Why is that?"

Maeglin wrinkled his nose. "I do not think I want to look in the mirror for a while, Nana. I do not know who might look back at me. I can comb my hair without the mirror."

Aredhel gave a sad little smile. "Yes, you can. I do not mind that your mirror faces the wall, if that makes you feel more comfortable. I was merely curious."

"Nana?"

"Yes, Lómion?"

"Will you tell me a story?"

Aredhel's smile became a little brighter. "Of course I will, child. What story would you like to hear?"

Maeglin cuddled close to his mother. "Tell me about my cousin Idril, Nana. Tell me about how you and Turgon and everyone else took care of her when she was a baby. I want to hear about your family."

Aredhel nodded and began to tell the familiar story once again.

Maeglin's skills in the forge improved swiftly, and he began to show more enthusiasm for the work. Pleased at this change, Eöl devoted more time to teaching, and one day, he declared that Maeglin was ready to start a small project of his own. He gave Maeglin some pieces of copper and excused him from his chores in the forge for a day. Maeglin worked diligently, pausing every now and then to ask for help with a difficult skill. At the end of the day, he brought his project to Eöl for inspection. It was a smooth copper bracelet with a piece of carnelian embedded at the seam.

"I could not get the seam to be as smooth as the rest of the bracelet, Ada," Maeglin explained. "So I found the stone, and I melted a hole in the copper with the soldering iron, and I put the stone in so that the seam would not show as much."

Eöl examined the bracelet and nodded. "That was a clever idea, Maeglin," he said. "For a semiprecious stone such as carnelian, that is a perfectly fine way to set it. When you have learned more smithcraft and are able to do more delicate work, I will show you how to set the finer gems."

Maeglin beamed. "I would like that."

"For a first project, this is an entirely acceptable piece of work," Eöl said. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"It is for Nana. Do you think that she will mind that it is not silver?"

Eöl smiled. "No," he said. "She will not mind. Not all of her jewelry is silver. Her marriage ring is of gold."

"Oh. I remember now." Maeglin had never given much thought to the little golden rings that Eöl and Aredhel wore. Now, he reached out tentatively and took his father's hand, turning it over to inspect the smooth, broad gold band. "Did you make your marriage rings?"

"I did. They were the first jewelry I crafted for your mother." Eöl's expression softened at the memory. "I think that ring was the first piece of jewelry she had ever had that was not silver. When I placed it on her finger, the gold made her hand glow with an astonishing warmth. It was as if a marble statue had come alive under my touch, and I knew that I had changed her, touched her in ways no one else ever had."

Maeglin had not expected to hear something like that from Eöl, and the shared memory made him feel warm inside. "You love Nana," he said happily. "You really love her."

"Yes," Eöl said softly. "I love your mother. I have loved her since the moment I first laid eyes on her, when she wandered lost through the forest. I knew even then that I would wed her. And she has given me something remarkable in return for my love."

"What did she give you, Ada?"

Eöl ruffled Maeglin's hair. "She gave me a child, my Maeglin, a boy I love more than life itself." Maeglin smiled, and his whole body relaxed when he heard those words. For one moment, the world seemed to be at peace.

Too soon, Eöl shook himself from his reverie and turned to pick up the bracelet Maeglin had made. "I think your mother will like this very much," he said. "You should go and polish it now, so that it will be clean and lovely when you give it to her. I think that I can find a box or a pouch for it, to protect it." He handed Maeglin a little pot of polish and a rag, then turned to rummage through a drawer filled with odds and ends.

Maeglin put the pouch with the bracelet in the pocket of his trousers and helped Eöl tidy the forge at the end of the day. When Eöl dismissed him, he ran to the house, barely pausing to greet Aredhel as he sprinted to his chamber to wash. He glanced at the mirror, as he did every day, but he decided that he did not want to look into it just yet. He was still apprehensive about who might look back at him, and he did not want anything to spoil the pleasure of giving his mother her gift at dinner.

Eöl followed Maeglin to the house carrying the pot filled with stew, and Maeglin heard him enter and greet Aredhel warmly. Both of his parents seemed to be happy today, and Maeglin's heart sang at the thought. Perhaps there would be no angry words or sullen silences at the table tonight.

"Dinner is ready," Aredhel called. Maeglin quickly dried his face and hands, changed out of his forge-stained day clothes into a clean outfit, and headed for the main room. At the last minute, he ran back and dug the pouch from the pocket of his forge trousers.

The stew and bread smelled especially delicious tonight, and both Eöl and Aredhel smiled when Maeglin came to the table. "Did you have a good day at the forge?" Aredhel asked him."

Maeglin nodded. "I did," he said. He hoped that Aredhel would not ask him to elaborate, since he did not want to ruin her surprise. To his relief, Eöl stepped in to rescue him.

"Maeglin turns out to have a happy talent for smithcraft," he said. "He has learned many skills since we began lessons, and I am happy to be teaching him. He will make a fine smith in his own right when he is grown."

"I am glad to hear it," Aredhel said. "Perhaps he will find work in Doriath. I have heard that King Thingol loves beautiful things of gems and precious metals. Perhaps he would appreciate having an Elvish smith at his court so that he need not trade for so much with the Dwarves."

"Hmph," Eöl said. "Thingol does not give the Dwarves nearly as much credit as they deserve. But that is his own fault. If he is bound and determined to have an Elvish smith, he could do worse than to accept Maeglin into his service when he is grown."

"Then perhaps he will become a gemsmith." Aredhel turned to Maeglin. "What do you think? Would you like to become a gemsmith in the court of King Thingol?"

Maeglin shrugged. "I do not know. I have never met King Thingol. I do not know if I would like him."

Eöl scraped up the last of his stew. "I will take you to see him one day," he said. "When you are a little bit older, you may come along when I go to Menegroth to trade there."

"I would like that." Maeglin laid down his spoon and took a deep breath. "Nana?"

"What is it, child?"

Maeglin had thought to make a pretty speech when he gave the first fruits of his labors to his mother, but he found that he had forgotten everything he wanted to say. He fished the pouch out of his pocket and placed it in Aredhel's hand. "This is for you. I made it in the forge today."

Aredhel opened the pouch and took out the bracelet. The copper shone softly in the lamp light, and the little piece of carnelian embedded in the seam glowed. "Oh my," Aredhel said. "You made this yourself?" She slipped the bracelet over her hand and admired the effect. "This is lovely. I am so very proud of you. Thank you, Maeglin."

At the sound of her words, Maeglin froze, and his blood ran cold. Aredhel had never yet used his new father-name, but now it had tumbled from her lips as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Seeing the look on his face, Aredhel frowned in confusion. Then she realized what she had said. Her eyes widened in shock, and the hand that wore the copper bracelet flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, I did not mean . . . are you . . ." her voice trailed off. She and Maeglin stared at each other for a moment. With an effort, Maeglin turned his gaze to Eöl, hoping again to find rescue from a difficult situation. Instead, Eöl's lips slowly twisted into a smile of naked, gloating triumph.

Maeglin's stomach turned over at the sight. Afraid that he would vomit if he looked at Eöl any longer, he rose and fled from the table without asking permission. He ran to his bedchamber and collapsed shivering on the floor. His stomach churned, and he pulled the chamber pot from beneath the bed and clutched it tightly, waiting for the shouting to start in the main room. But nothing happened, and gradually, the nausea subsided.

When Maeglin trusted himself to move again, he scrambled to his feet. A burning desire to look in his mirror, as he had not done in weeks, seized him, and his hands shook as he lit a candle and turned the frame so that he could see the polished black _galvorn _surface.

The last time he had looked in the mirror, the face that looked back at him had seemed terrifyingly foreign, the face of a stranger. It was the face of someone named Maeglin, someone he did not know and was not sure he wanted to know. Ever since then, he had been afraid to look in the mirror, afraid to confront Maeglin who lurked within. Now, he stared into the mirror in surprise.

The face in the mirror had changed. It had not become any more familiar or recognizable as himself, but it was different. Instead of angry and hurt, it looked shocked and numb, the face of a child tried beyond all endurance. The face of the child in the mirror crumpled, his eyes shone with tears that would not fall, and suddenly Maeglin knew him.

"Lómion," he said softly. "Nana did not mean to hurt you. She loves you. I want things to be as they were before." Lómion in the mirror looked back at him sadly. His expression changed, growing calmer, but more distant. Maeglin sighed. His heart ached in his chest at the sight of Lómion's withdrawal. "Farewell, Lómion," he said, and backed slowly away from the mirror.

In silence, he washed his face, changed into his nightclothes, and crawled into bed. He left the mirror facing into the room in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of Lómion again in the future. Through the wall, he thought he heard Aredhel weeping. Maeglin swallowed his own sorrow and blew the candle out. In the gloom, he burrowed down underneath his quilt, cold even in the warm evening, and waited for sleep to come.

In the morning, he looked in the mirror, but he did not see Lómion. The reflection was recognizably his own. Maeglin sighed as he combed his hair and went out to face the day.

He never saw Lómion again.

END

Afterword 

Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. It's certainly been an interesting experience getting inside this tense, unhappy family.

I'd been considering writing something about Eöl for some time, but I could never quite bring myself to do it. Eöl reminds me very much of someone I knew in college, and for a long time that comparison was too much. However, I had also wanted to explore the question of what exactly Aredhel saw in him and how his relationship with Maeglin evolved. It turned out that that last question was the trigger that allowed me to find a way into this family.

I'm still not exactly sure what Aredhel saw in Eöl. I'll have to keep exploring that question. But this is all for now. I'll see you later.


End file.
